


Happy Frigging St. Valentine's Day

by sister_wolf



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-14
Updated: 2001-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toad and Mystique.  A bar.  St. Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Frigging St. Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for attempted non-con.

Slamming doors and pounding footsteps echo down the hallway. I raise my head from my work and see Mystique coming from the direction of Magneto's office, clearly fuming. Brilliantly, I conclude that she and Sabretooth have clashed again.

"Another argument with Snaggletooth?" I ask, oozing sympathy. Recently, I've actually gotten her to notice my existence by being there to listen to her rant after she and the big hairy one argue the toss.

"Yes," she hisses, pacing the room. "I swear, if Magneto didn't have some use for him, I'd cut his throat myself. He failed to get the girl. She's essential for the plan to work, and he fails to kidnap one seventeen-year-old girl! He's pathetic!"

I make soothing sounds as she finishes ranting, and ask her, "So how's phase two doing?"

"The Senator's aide? Not a problem. No one suspects."

"Of course not. You're the best." She smiles. In a moment of pure stupidity, I ask, "So, ah, Mystique—you want to go out and grab a beer or something?" Mentally I groan. Smooth move, shit for brains. She's going to whack you into next week.

Instead, to my complete shock, she says, "Sure. I could use a break from this place."

I must be dreaming, I muse to myself as I accelerate the boat away from shore. The most gorgeous woman I've ever seen just agreed to go out and grab a beer with me. Long, lean, luscious and blue, from the tips of her toes all the way up to her short red hair. That's right, she's going out with me, Toad, master of phlegm, green, skinny, freakish, and in general, completely ignored. Except for tonight.

I dock the boat and turn to see her transforming. She's decided to trash Jean Gray's reputation, I conclude, since she's taken the X-bitch's form but is dressed in a skin-tight, low-cut top and a skirt that's almost short enough to get her arrested. I grin in appreciation.

"What do you think?" she says in a perfect imitation of the redhead's cultured tones.

"Very nice. But I think you look better blue." I'm not lying either. Her normal form, naked, blue, and somewhat scaly, is the subject of most of my late-night imaginings, if you know what I mean.

Then she says the worst possible thing she could say. The words that come as a figurative kick in the balls, crushing my male ego into a thin red smear on the pavement.

"That's sweet, Toad. Thanks."

NooooOOOOoooo!

I realize that to her I'm the safe male pal, the emasculated confidante, might as well be a eunuch for all the effect I'll be able to have on her sexually.

I follow her up the street to the bar, moodily contemplating my fate. I'm the safe male pal. There's advantages to that, I suppose. I can give her shoulder rubs without her thinking it's a come-on.

On the other hand, I could tell her I've got a hotel room, a can of whipping cream, and a prehensile tongue, and she'd probably just laugh and tell me I'm sweet. I should just go kill myself now.

The bar is moderately packed. I hate crowded places, but Mystique wanted to go here, so I make sure the hood of my coat is pulled forward enough to hide my green skin and follow her in. She walks with a distinctive strut in the high heels of her current disguise, but I miss the view of her amazing arse.

There's silly red and pink hearts strung up all over the place, and I silently swear to myself. It's bloody St. Valentine's Day. Of all the stupid holidays, this one must be the worst.

Mystique perches on a barstool, her long legs elegantly crossed, and orders herself a vodka gimlet. I suppress a shudder and hop up onto the barstool next to hers. She likes fancy drinks that taste like cat piss.

"Whaddaya want?" the bartender asks.

I sigh internally and ask, "D'ya have any Black Sheep?"

"What is that, a joke? I got Bud, Bud Light, MGD—"

I quickly interrupt him. "Anything British?"

"Bass, Guinness, Killian's—"

I interrupt him before he finishes the sentence. I don't want to have to kill my bartender. "Bass."

Mystique looks at me thoughtfully. "Not Guinness?"

"Tastes like camel piss."

She nods and sips her drink. I toss a few bills on the bar and look around, sizing up the crowd. Couples getting into fights, couples getting ready to go home and screw, lonely singles looking to get their oats. I grin to myself. Tonight, at least, I look like I'm with the most beautiful woman in the bar.

We sit without talking, people-watching. Mystique and I both watch people obsessively. It's a professional thing. She's a shape-shifter, I'm a thief.

Life does not get better than this. A woman who looks like sex on a stick by my side and a jar of beer in my hand. I take a swallow of my beer and feel that all is right with the world.

Till, of course, a couple of trogs pissed off their asses decide to move in on Mystique. "Hey baby," one of them says, leaning on the bar between me and Mystique, "you wanna go have some fun?"

My hands curl into fists. There's nothing I hate more than being ignored just because I'm a small guy. I glance over at Mystique, waiting for her signal to wipe the floor with these jerks.

Mystique looks them over. Big guys, sloppily dressed, stinking of cheap American beer and cigarette smoke. Her lips curl in a smile that I'm sure they think is seductive. I recognize it as the look that she gets right before she kills someone. Suddenly my night is looking better.

"Sure," she replies huskily. "Where do you want to go?"

"I'm parked around back," the other one says. "C'mon, babe."

Mystique tosses back the last of her drink and slides it onto the bar, giving me a quick wink. She gets up and pretends to stumble, giggling. The three of them head toward the back exit, weaving slightly.

I wait for them to exit before I follow them. Mystique knows what she's doing.

The back door opens on a beer-and-piss scented alleyway. The three of them are about twenty feet away, walking arm in arm. I follow them silently. Mystique's giggling, holding on to their arms, pretending to need help walking. The guys stop when they reach a poorly-lit spot between trash bins.

One of them grabs her from behind and holds her arms, the other one shoves up her skirt. It's fairly obvious what they mean to do. I get closer while they're distracted, waiting for Mystique's signal.

It comes as a flash of movement. Suddenly the guy in front is moaning, clutching his groin, and the one behind her is falling backwards, his nose fountaining blood. I jump the one with the bloody nose while Mystique silently stalks the one she kicked in the bollocks.

It's a quick fight. Bloody Nose is drunk, slow, blinded by pain. He barely blocks my first punch. I crush his throat with one kick and he slumps to the ground, dying.

I turn around and see that Mystique is drawing things out with the other one. She kicks him a few times, lightly, keeping him off balance, and drops him with a sudden leg-sweep. She's shifted back to her real form, and I can't help but admire her lithe beauty, like a panther in human form. Damn, the woman makes me think like a fucking poet.

Mystique leans over the prone man, her foot resting gently on his balls. "What's your name?" she purrs, and goose-bumps rise up all over my body.

"Dick," the guy gasps, fear oozing from him.

"Dick," she says, and laughs. I wince, knowing that isn't a happy sound.

Mystique raises her foot, balancing perfectly on one leg for a moment, and then quick as a cobra striking her foot snaps down. There's a crunching noise and then Dick starts screaming.

"We're done here," she says to me, shifting into the form of a plump, short, drab woman. I gulp and follow her out of the alley.

Dick's screaming follows us down the street.

On the boat back to Magneto's island, I can feel Mystique staring at me. I look over at her finally and snap, "What?"

"Do you think I'm a monster?" She's back in her real form.

I shake my head, keeping an eye on the control panels. "Nah, Mystique. Those trogs deserved what they got."

She keeps silent until we reach the island and I've docked the boat. She looks thoughtful, which makes me feel nervous and aroused at the same time. Bollocks.

I jump to the dock and wait for her to follow me. She leaps up from the boat and begins walking toward me, slowly, her eyes hypnotic.

She drifts over toward me, so graceful, like a snake. A gorgeous, venomous snake. Mystique rests her fingertips on my chest and gazes at me with her golden eyes. "Do you desire me?"

Ah, crap. I'm not ready to die yet. But this just might be a night worth dying for. I take a deep breath and say, "For fuck's sake, Mystique, I've desired you since the first time I met you!"

She nods, smiling mysteriously.

Feverishly, my brain tries to figure out if that's an "I'm-about-to-kill-you" smile or an "I'm-about-to-fuck-you" smile.

Her fingers drift down my chest and hook into the waistband of my jeans.

I hold my breath.

Mystique tugs me toward her and says, "That's the right answer."

The last coherent thought to go through my mind that night is, "Thank you, Saint Valentine!"


End file.
